


He holds my body in his arms / He didn't mean to do no harm

by Splat_Dragon



Series: Have you no idea that you’re in deep? [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow (Red Dead Redemption 2), Character Death, Ending v1, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Micah Bell has a heart, Micah feels guilt, Micah's POV, Reader is Arthur's sister, Spoilers, downer ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28897983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon
Summary: Only one of you was getting off this mountain.And he was a survivor.
Relationships: Micah Bell/Reader
Series: Have you no idea that you’re in deep? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119320
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	He holds my body in his arms / He didn't mean to do no harm

Micah had sworn he would never fall in love.

Hadn’t thought himself capable of it, really.

Had thought himself ruined.

  
  


And then he’d met you. Morgan’s little sister. And he’d sworn - one night, one night only. But first he’d had to work his way into your pants, pull you out to dance and go from there.

And then he’d sworn two nights - and never again. Then three. Then four. Then next thing he knew he was waking up with you curled against his chest, his face buried in your hair.

He’d never felt so terrified in his life.

...when Morgan found out, though, was admittedly a close second.

  
  


He was _fucked._

Milton would never let him out of his contract alive, and were you really worth it? ...he was horrified to realize you were. But he was already in too deep, and Van Der Linde was unraveling beneath the stress and doubting.

He tried to suggest running away, once, and nursed a black eye for a week.

  
  


Micah had never been a man for guilt, but watching you shiver and shake and curl up against him in Colter tore at a heart he hadn’t known he had. You’d adored your gelding, and holding you as you cried for him broke his heart.

And when he was in Strawberry’s jail, he missed you more than anything. Had time to think, and realized he missed you in a way he’d never missed anyone before.

When he finally returned to camp, he was greeted with horror. He’d thought it was worth it - those guns meant the world to him - but was it really? He argued with you, feared losing you, then finally buckled, begged and groveled and swore not to do it again.

  
  


He put a ring on your finger in Clemens’ Point.

Matthews watched with something akin to disappointment as Morgan glowered, while Dutch glowed with pride. The Reverend sobered up and read your vows and, just for the night, all seemed well.

And then MacGuire died. You ranted and raved and howled, and he’d never thought you so beautiful as when you were silhouetted by the Braithwaite’s burning manor.

Jack was rescued and, though he doubted it would ever come to pass, could see you dancing along behind the ever-fading Van Der Linde, he entertained the thought of a few songs, even a daughter or two, as you played with Marston’s boy.

And then Guarma happened. You and Smith led the guards away, and he spent the entire time wondering if you had been killed or, worse, captured.

When he returned to Lagras, you clung to him but, though you were closer than ever, he could feel you drifting away from him.

He was so busy in Beaver Hollow he seldom slept. It took him a week to realize you’d moved your bedroll into Morgan’s tent.

You stayed until the end. Morgan accused him (correctly) of being the rat and, looking so hurt _something_ in his chest _ached,_ and he tried to gesture you to his side but you stepped back to stand between Morgan and Marston.

  
  


He took out his hurt on Morgan. Beat him to death until _something_ slammed into his back and took him to the ground.

The agony on your face was obvious. If he hadn’t known you, he’d have mistaken your grimace for a grin, and your eyes gleamed with unshed tears. But still you drew back your fist and struck him, over and over and over.

He shoved your shoulder, flipped you over and pinned you down, drew back his fist—

—and froze.

You two had been in this position so many times, and only ever while smiling and laughing and moaning. This was _wrong,_ but there was nothing he could do - Van Der Linde had turned his gun on you, the gang was scattered, Morgan was dying, and most of it was his fault.

You thrashed against his grip, cursed and insulted him and every one of his ancestors, and he bared his teeth and balled his fist.

His eyes gleamed, and he hit and he hit and he hit.

  
  


He knew you, maybe better than anyone else.

Only one of you was getting off this mountain.

And he was a survivor.


End file.
